


Sails Pitch

by wanderNavi



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, One Piece
Genre: Gen, I didn’t even ask for this?, One Piece - Fusion, hijinks on the high sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderNavi/pseuds/wanderNavi
Summary: Chrom selects his words carefully. “We’re not, we’re more like … adventurers?”The still unnamed man drinks from his tankard, steely eyes narrowed over the wooden rim. Chrom does not fidget. The tankard lowers and hits the sticky tabletop with a muffled thud. “So, what I’m still hearing is that you’re either mercenaries or vigilantes,” he says.
Relationships: Chrom & My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Sails Pitch

**Author's Note:**

> I've given up on my ability to concentrate on anything actually important in life. Apparently, I’m in the mood for a short One Piece/FE:A fic. I don’t even –

The only reason Emmeryn allows Chrom off the island – out of the capital, period – is because a) she believes in him gaining valuable life experience and seeing the world as much as he can and b) she wants him out of the way while quelling an outside instigated coup.

So, he goes. He takes Lissa with him too. Frederick trails along out of longsuffering obligation.

Being out at sea with his little sister and their best friends that are able to stomach the sway of a ship cutting through the waves and aren’t crucial for stamping out the threat at home – it's nice, Chrom admits. They spend a month longer at an autumn island than strictly necessary, basking in the gentle chill standing in opposition to their usual spring island climate. He and Stahl eat candied applies and Maribelle attends too many tea ceremonies and Sully and Vaike find companionship in sighing at the could-have-beens from arriving just a few days after a several weeks’ long tournament. They all gain tans on the beaches of a summer island and Chrom gets snow shoved down the back of his shirt no less than four times across half as many winters.

It's _nice_ and he tells Emmeryn all about their forced vacation, giving her an hour of levity every night when the Grand Line’s weather isn’t too chaotic and demonically possessed on the open waters. Lissa tells her about the gifts and souvenirs she’s been steadily accumulating at each port. Frederick tells her the parts of their more frantic adventures that Chrom tries editing out, like the time they nearly started a bar fight and the times they did start a bar fight or two or, well, five. It's not Chrom’s fault.

Just that, sometimes, he catches the glint of greed and wrath reflected off the eyes and teeth of a crew sailing under a proud black and his hand unfailing lands on the hilt of his sword. And if the captain happens to declare an intent to terrorize? What else is Chrom supposed to do?

* * *

Chrom’s sword swings just a hair too late and his guard nearly buckles under the crashing weight of his opponent’s ax slamming towards his head with vengeful purpose. He can't afford to stay locked like this for long and nearly gives himself a haircut ducking out of the way of the ax and a swipping sword. Sourly, he misses the much more orderly spars and fights at the castle and among the guards, where the air around him isn’t saturated with the flailing haze of blood and too much adrenaline.

Personal near misses aside, his crew’s making steady work of the rampaging pirates and he presses forward where he can. These criminals can’t enter the town further, the marines here aren’t remotely enough and on the other side of the great island besides. Chrom throws himself into a whirl that snaps at the unprotected arms of two opponents.

Block, parry, slash, weave past Stahl and around Sully, he’s so focused on the battle, he doesn’t notice an approaching presence until bodies start hitting the ground with the well-placed _CRACK_ of a rifle. A panicked glance shows none of his friends falling victim and he pushes the matter to the side.

In a short moment, the battle ends and Lissa comes scrambling down from their ship.

“Lissa, _wait_ ,” Chrom yells at her because he’s finally found their unexpected ally.

He almost misses the head among the white clouds scuttling across the sky in fast moving, cotton puffs, but the dark purple robes stand out starkly, along with the rifle held at the figure’s side. A closer eye reveals a sword hilt, or a long knife at their right. Frederick draws towards Chrom’s side.

“You looking to cause trouble too?” the figure calls down.

“No,” Chrom shouts back up. “Thanks for the assist. Do you mind coming down?”

“Not really,” he gets back which, really, come on.

“No?” Chrom asks in confirmation.

“Nope.”

Frederick shifts beside him and he feels a steadily accumulating embarrassment. “Well, thanks,” he says again – pathetically. Lissa begins tittering behind him.

The figure lifts a gloved hand above that head of white hair and swiftly strides out of sight along the rooftops.

“Smooth, brother, smooth,” Lissa pipes up beside him, medical kit in her arms and rushing on towards Vaike who once again manages to be the most injured.

Chrom considers protesting, but Sully beats him to the punch, “At least the chances of you running into him again are slim. Come on, let’s get these thugs out of here.”

* * *

Chrom’s chances are _not_ slim, it turns out, because he manages to split off alone towards a bar and he’s directed to one of the last clean seats on the tiny premise and seated across the table is a familiar dark purple coat and pearly white hair.

Close up, Chrom can now take in the dark eyes pinched at the corners with a wry half-smirk and lifted eyebrow. He shrugs at the scrutiny and arranges his posture to hopefully convey the genuine coincidence of this encounter. Mostly he succeeds in flopping his arms at his sides and sliding into his seat with a gangly thump. The second eyebrow rises to meet its sibling.

He smiles and says again because it turns out that Maribelle almost got gutted from behind if it hadn’t been for a well-aimed bullet, “Really, thank you for your assistance earlier today. Anything I could do for you? Buy you a round at least?”

“Wouldn’t say no to that,” his new drinking companion says. That’s a welcome first, and when Chrom’s drink arrives, he tells the bartender to put the next drinks on his tab.

“You from around here?” Chrom asks him. There are a few more days before the Log Pose sets and he won’t mind some new company.

“I’m as local as you are,” the man says. “Though I haven’t been able to secure passage off this island for a while.”

“Really?” Chrom says in mild surprise. From the limited demonstration of his skills earlier, finding temporary work wouldn’t be too hard.

A drink slides down the other man’s throat and he answers, “I have a particular destination in mind and haven’t been able to find someone heading that way yet. What kind of crew are you? You haven’t got the flag of pirates or the air of bounty hunters. Yet the way you fight, vigilantes?”

Chrom selects his words carefully. “We’re not, we’re more like … adventurers?”

The still unnamed man drinks from his tankard, steely eyes narrowed over the wooden rim. Chrom does not fidget. The tankard lowers and hits the sticky tabletop with a muffled thud. “So, what I’m still hearing is that you’re either mercenaries or vigilantes,” he says.

“Not really?” The amount of times people recognize Chrom’s identity is a tossup, and when the results land negative, he’s begun to find himself loath to reveal himself. His sister’s in the middle of a coup, he’d rather not bring on that kind of attention if he can help it. “Actually, I’m on something of a forced vacation. I’m not usually going around being a, being a vigilante. I’m just Chrom, no set occupation.”

“Hmm.” The gaze hasn’t relented. This is a test, Chrom begins to realize and he drinks a shallow sip. “Very well, Just Chrom, no set occupation, on forced vacation, I’m Robin. I’ve been trying to reach the kingdom of Chon’sin. Is that on your path?”

It’s not. “Certainly. May I ask why?”

“You’ve only bought me a drink, not dinner yet.”

* * *

When they come back – when Lissa sees them ambling back through town towards the ship, where Vaike and Maribelle are back in some chaos, gods know what under all the shrill shrieking, her eyes narrow in instant comprehension. “Seriously?” she spits and hustles them up the gangplank before Frederick can materialize in paranoid disapproval.

“Lissa, this is Robin,” Chrom says and ignores her. “Robin, this is my sister Lissa.”

Robin nods with the suave smoothness of someone who isn’t mildly hungover. “Pleasure to meet you Lissa.”

She barely reaches his shoulders, but Lissa still stares up at him with a slightly pinched expression. “You’re sailing with us?”

“For a while.”

They’re fortunate to have stepped away from the railings and the gangplank because at that moment, Vaike comes flying through the air with Panne, who Chrom’s barely seen for the last fortnight, following at a more measured, chilly pace. He crashes onto the deck on a cushion of swears.

“It’s always like this,” Lissa warns. “Welcome on board, I guess. Be careful of Chrom accidentally swindling you onto the crew itself.”

Over Chrom’s protest – “ _Hey_ ” – Robin says with a growingly familiar bemused resignation, “Well, someone has to help you all keep your acts together.”


End file.
